AGreat Joy and aDeep Sorrow
A Great Joy and
a Deep Sorrow
On a May morning, under blue skies with white seagulls circling above their boat, George and Elizabeth sailed for Scotland. George breathed deeply as they watched the shores of England grow smaller. “A sea journey is better than any medicine I know, Elizabeth.”
“Yes, my dear husband, and you have needed this for a long while,” she said.
George took a deep breath of the sea air. “It will be good for both of us. When I think of the hundreds of people turning back to God through the work going on in Scotland at Cambuslang, I feel it is a great privilege to be asked to help.” Elizabeth smiled, pleased to be going with George to Scotland.
“I did not get to Cambuslang though I was near it on my last trip to Glasgow. The Reverend McCulloch in Cambuslang started teaching about new birth in Jesus, and people began coming and have not stopped. Workers are much needed.” George placed an arm about Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Pray, Elizabeth, that God will touch every corner in Scotland.” A week later they landed in Edinburgh.
The city turned out to welcome them. When they left for Glasgow, a crowd of 20,000 was waiting. God blessed the message everywhere George spoke. One night, after a late meal George turned to Elizabeth and said, “I must write a letter to the men of the Presbytery who first invited me to Scotland, and now denounce me to their people. I must try to make peace with them.”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears. “It is not in you to hold anything but forgiveness for others.” Elizabeth wrote as George dictated a letter to the men of the Associate Presbytery begging them not to let small differences cut them off from each other. He signed it, “Your younger brother and servant in the Gospel of Christ. G. W.” Elizabeth sealed it ready for delivery. There was no response.
It was July when George entered Cambuslang. The crowds that gathered in the open air were enormous! As many as three times in ten hours he preached to them. “I have never seen anything like this even in America,” George said to Reverend McCulloch. People stayed on far into the night. In the fields all around them George could hear prayers and praises, some until daybreak.
The following Saturday and Sunday crowds of 20,000 came to the large natural amphitheater near the church, a great grassy place bordering on a ravine. Tents to shelter the speakers who had come to help were put up, one at each end, and another in a nearby field. No one had ever seen such a sight in Scotland before! George wrote of it to Marcus, “It is like the Bible story of the Passover in Josiah’s time. I preached under the shelter of one tent, while another spoke in the other tent. Hundreds have come to faith in the Lord Jesus, and many have awakened to God! I have been asked to return in a month’s time.” When he did return the crowds in Cambuslang had swelled to over 30,000 people.
The Associate Presbytery, angry that they had ever asked George to come to Scotland, now attacked the revival at Cambuslang. “George Whitefield and the others are frightening the people into frenzy. This is a work of the Devil,” they declared. “George Whitefield is an idolater from the anti-Christian field of England.” It was true that some people wept, and some groaned as they listened, and those who came to Jesus were joyful, but there was no wild fire here. As George read their angry letter to the public it was the last item that made him sigh deeply. “George Whitefield has come to Scotland to gain money for himself by using the needs of the orphanage in Georgia as a cover up.”
George was silent, and when Elizabeth asked if he would write another letter to these men, he said, “Those dear men, I pity them. Writing again to them, I fear will be in vain.” Elizabeth knew he had already forgiven them.
News of George’s ministry in Scotland soon reached the American colonies and George’s old enemies at once sent word that he was not to be trusted. The pamphlet from America accused Mr. Whitefield of being a fanatic who encouraged people to outbursts of uncontrolled behavior, and also accused him of collecting money for the orphanage and keeping it for himself. “I am already accused of this here in Scotland by our opponents.” George looked away from the written accusations. “How the world is mistaken about my circumstances: worth nothing myself, and yet looked upon to flow in riches!” he said. “This time I must write a clear defense for the sake of Scotland and for the Colonies.”
“You are no thief, George, and I cannot tell you how glad I am that you will clear your name,” Elizabeth said. George published his defense with a full financial accounting of the work at the orphanage.
George was preaching in Edinburgh when a letter came from John Wesley. “It is so good to hear him call you brother,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, and John says though we still have some differences they will not keep us from spreading the gospel as brothers. He writes to tell of terrible persecutions he and his people are suffering,” George sighed. “We must pray for them and encourage them.” As Elizabeth took the letter, she thought of the terrible times of persecution she had seen in Wales as their friend Howell Harris preached the gospel. She too had been chased by unbelievers in her home village in Wales.
Back in London Elizabeth settled down in their lodgings while George preached. These days Elizabeth smiled often. She and George were going to have a baby! George, whose heart went out to every small child they met, was to have a child of his own! “I will do my best, Elizabeth to see to your care while I’m gone, and I’ll return as often as I can.” On his next return George said, “You need a ride in the fresh air, Elizabeth. Let me take you for an airing in the chaise. It will be good for you.” The air was cool and crisp and George was enjoying the outing when a gray flash of something small ran in front of the horse making him swerve wildly. “Hold on, Elizabeth,” George cried. Elizabeth grabbed hold and seconds later the chaise overturned and landed in the ditch. Elizabeth was thrown across George who lay sprawled in the mud. Slowly Elizabeth managed to roll off George and sit up. As George got to his knees, and reached to help her, his anxious look and mud spattered face struck Elizabeth funny. She laughed and said, “This was good for me?” Except for a few bruises and a lot of mud, neither were hurt. “No more exercise for you,” George said, “I promise.” When the time came to leave again, George promised to hurry back. Elizabeth and her nurse companion waved him goodbye.
It was October and George had preached from a balcony to thousands below in the street. He was thinking of Elizabeth and writing a letter that evening when a knock came at his door. He supposed it might be someone with questions. Instead it was a messenger with news that Elizabeth had borne a son!
Thanking the Lord, George left everything, and hurried to London eager to see Elizabeth and their son. At the house they were renting, George ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. Elizabeth smiled at him from her bed, and offered him the tiny bundle that was his firstborn son. George could not keep back the tears of joy that ran down his face, as he cradled the little one in his arms. “My dearest wife, I feel a strong impression, a feeling I am sure is from God, that our son will grow up to be a preacher. What do you think of the name John?”
A few days later, standing before a hushed congregation of thousands, George held his son high. “His name is John, and he will be a preacher.” Afterward many said that surely this little one would follow in his father’s footsteps just as George had said.
By January George could no longer afford rent money for their lodging in London. Elizabeth looked up from baby John nested in her arms. “Dear husband, you must not mind. We shall be fine. My cottage in Wales will be a good home for our little son. You will come as often as you can. And when we are able to afford lodgings here in London again, we shall come back.”
“I will long for that day,” George said, “and until then I will come as often as I can to see you both in Wales.” George paced the room before he stood and said. “The weather is cold and the journey by coach will be long, Elizabeth. You must take Mrs. Jennings the nursemaid with you. You will have to stop halfway on the trip and stay with my brother Richard and his wife at the Bell Inn. It’s a good inn and you and baby John can rest there for several days before you go on to Wales. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
Elizabeth and the baby and Mrs. Jennings had gone as planned. George finally finished his work and was on his way to Gloucester. He arrived at the Bell Inn at last, anxious to see Elizabeth and little John. In his eagerness, George did not notice the black draping at the front door. But his older brother Richard with tears streaming down his face met him at the door. Before he could say a word, George knew at once something was wrong. “Is it Elizabeth?” George whispered. “Is she well?”
“Yes, Elizabeth is well, but oh George I fear your little son is gone. He became sick shortly after they arrived here, and the doctor did all he could, but it was not to be.”
George could barely speak, but as he went up the stairs to kneel by Elizabeth he whispered, “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh, blessed be the Lord.” How many tears he and Elizabeth shed together, George could not have told. By the time of little John’s funeral He felt God’s strengthening holding him up. Kneeling down with Elizabeth, they prayed together, wept together and laid their tiny son in the church where George preached his first sermon, the church he had been baptized in. “It is well with our child,” George said through his tears.
“Yes, I know,” Elizabeth whispered, barely able to speak. “All things work together for good to them that love God. He was a gift,” she sobbed, “and I will miss him as long as I live.” After the funeral Elizabeth wanted to leave for Wales as soon as she could. “I will be with friends in Abergavenny,” she comforted George.
Two days later, he and his brother Richard watched the coach leave with Elizabeth back to Wales. “I have learned a hard lesson, Richard. Four months ago I stood in front of the people of Gloucester and announced that our newborn son would be a preacher. I had such a strong feeling he would be a preacher that I was certain it was from God. I was wrong, Richard. We must not mistake such feelings as our guides.”
Richard laid his hand on George’s shoulder. “You are right, brother. It may turn out to be a feeling that is not from God. With all my heart I wish the child had lived. But now you have a ministry waiting for you to call many to new life in the Lord Jesus.” George embraced his brother and with a final farewell boarded the coach to London.
There were now many Societies of true believers who were called Methodists for their faith in the Lord Jesus. And to be called a Methodist was becoming more and more dangerous. The cry was now “Methodists are fanatics; they must be opposed.”
George felt a terrible sadness as he read of the latest sufferings of Methodists for their beliefs. “Look here, Syms, the rioters do whatever they please and the magistrates do nothing to stop them.”
“The violence grows worse,” Syms agreed. “I fear what it will do to our people. Look here at what they did to young Adams.”
In Hampton a mob of hundreds dragged the Reverend Thomas Adams from his pulpit, threw him into a nearby lime pit, and then into a pond injuring him severely.”
“We must go to his aid,” George said. When the leaders at Hampton heard George was coming, they declared him their next victim.
George arrived in town before the mob gathered. He was preaching inside the large house of a friend when the mob arrived. George stood at the top of a staircase to speak to those below him. When the mob pressed inside George leapt down the stairs toward them, causing them to run outside in a fright. Some thought he had flown down. Later George said, “I had no idea that I would do such a thing.” The mob stayed outside until late in the evening ready to attack anyone who tried to leave. Adams was seized again, wounded and thrown back into the pond. Others too were injured before the rioters finally left.
George went at once to three clergymen in the town to ask for their help. “But Mr. Whitefield,” one of the clergy, who was also a justice of the peace, said, “These happenings are all thanks to you, Sir, and your wild, fanatic teachings. Go home, and let the people alone if you wish to help them.”
“These rioters take the law into their own hand and do great harm to those who have done them no harm,” George said as he and Marcus left. “It’s time we took action. We must call our people together to pray and fast. I will go before the court in Gloucester and make formal charges against these Hampton rioters.”
In court the rioters claimed, “We took action to stop the fanatic Methodists for the good of the people.” On George’s side three of the witnesses who were not Methodists gave clear proof that the riot was not the fault of the Methodists at all. The jury looked grim as they listened, but they ruled in favor of George’s side, and condemned the rioters to pay damages set by the King’s Bench Court. George stood and said, “We will not ask for payment. It is enough that these men know they can be called before the court and punished.” After the court case violence against Christians lessened though it did not stop completely.
George was needed at the Orphan House. “Elizabeth must come too,” he said.